Mother
by McNovelist
Summary: Something has Tony off his game. Can Gibbs get him back on track before it's too late? Father/son. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

The three agents sat in an uncharacteristic silence, waiting for their fearless leader to enter the bullpen and bark the orders that would dictate what was sure to be a boring day of desk duties. Their latest case was all but wrapped up, and now all that remained were the daunting piles of paperwork to attend to.

But one of the three agents wasn't his usual self. Tony could sense the eyes of his coworkers fall upon him periodically, and watched them exchange worried glances out of the corner of his eye. It was usually easier to play the class clown than to have them on his case like this, but Tony was lacking the energy to do anything about it. Especially today.

Gibbs strode into the bullpen at his usual brisk pace with two coffees in hand, stopping at the senior field agent's desk to hand him one of his sickly sweet hazelnut brews.

DiNozzo looked up and accepted the styrofoam cup with a world weary half smile of genuine gratitude. He could always count on Gibbs for silent encouragement when things got hard. It was reassuring to know the old man was always in his corner. "Thank you, Boss."

Gibbs lingered with his hand on Tony's desk a moment longer, sharing a knowing gaze with his senior field agent. The two agents had become more like father and son than coworkers over the years, sharing a connection that required nothing more than a prolonged glance or a nod of the head to communicate what both men usually never dared to uncover. Hardly satisfied, Gibbs made his way over to his desk and settled in for the day.

Now McGee truly was curious. _Coffee? Knowing glances? Maybe something really is wrong, _he thought. Figuring comedy was the best way to lighten the mood of a room that, if left alone, would make for possibly the most tedious working day ever, Tim gaped his mouth open comically.

"Wow, Tony, a coffee from the boss. Nobody died, did they?"

And at that moment the final remnants of composure left in Tony fled his body. He shot out of his chair without even realising it, standing rigidly upright behind his desk with a look of sheer exhaustion in his eyes. Upon realising how he had reacted, his jaw slackened in defeat and his head hung low, transfixed upon the desk in front of him.

Oddly, Gibbs didn't employ his usual tactic of ignoring McGee's banter. He too, was on his feet behind his desk, holding his gaze steady on DiNozzo; watching his every move as if he were waiting for him to flee, all the while never lifting his stare.

DiNozzo, straightening his back and suit, fixed his mask back in place. "I'm going to go check in with Abby." He strode out of the bullpen and towards the elevator, keeping his eyes firmly on the path ahead and leaving behind a shocked bullpen.

"Ugh, Boss? Did I say something?" McGee's mouth was now genuinely gaping open.

Only then did Gibbs shift his gaze from his senior field agent's now empty desk to direct a look of pure shame upon McGee.


	2. Chapter 2

In the abused elevator DiNozzo stabbed furiously at the buttons assigned to Abby's lab. Abby was what he needed now. Just plain old overly caffeinated, overly positive, overly talkative Abby. She would cheer him up and then he could get back to his work without this - thing - hanging over his shoulders. This _thing_... He angrily slammed a fist down on the emergency stop switch and let out a shaky breath he had been holding since McGee's little faux pas in the bullpen. _Focus, Anthony,_ he thought. _Stop being weak._ He smacked himself across the back of the head and flicked the elevator back on, deciding a visit down to autopsy was what he needed right now. The elevator deposited him in the depths of the building and he strode through the silver doors towards Ducky and Jimmy.

"Anthony, my dear boy! To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?" The Scotsman's voice boomed with its usual sincerity and cheerfulness that inspired both trust and comfort in his colleagues; precisely the reason Tony had chosen to come to _him_ rather than Abby.

Tony was as composed as ever; one hand laying cooly in his suit pocket whilst the other fiddled nonchalantly with a specimen jar occupying one of the many steel trays characterising the cold depths of autopsy.

"Jimmy, I think Abby's looking for you. She needs a hand processing some of the DNA you pulled from our sailor friend over there," Tony said, directing the specimen jar towards the black body bag taking up another steel table on the far end of the room. While he never showed it, Tony was always slightly queasy at the sight of the dead, and was silently grateful that today's departed sailor would not be privy to this particular conversation.

Jimmy, innocent as ever, did not think twice about Tony's cover story. "I'll head up right now," he said, leaving swiftly.

Ducky wasn't so easily fooled. "Ah. I take it this visit isn't strictly business? I better pop a pot of tea on then." The older man moved about the room with a certain gentleness that evoked a unique comfort in Tony, as he placed the dark leaves into a steel strainer and then into the antique tea pot; the only thing in autopsy, along with Ducky, that offered some warmth into the otherwise sterile environment.

"Mother always said that one should never rush the making of a good pot of tea. Teabags were almost never allowed in the house; she would settle for nothing short of premium hand picked leaves brewed in her Royal Doulton tea pot. Actually, there is a great story behind that pot. In 1847 a manservant by the name of William Carrington began his employment at the Queen's castle in Balmoral - "

"I'm gonna have to cut you off there Ducky," said Tony, glancing uncomfortably at his shoes whilst trying at his best half smirk in an effort not to hurt the medical examiner's feelings. "Don't have much time."

"Why, yes, of course, how forgetful of me. You are, after all, presumably here to speak to _me_. Please, have a seat, the tea is ready."

The two men sat at the cold table; Tony against the wall while Ducky occupied the seat facing him. "Now, tell me, dear boy," Ducky mused as he poured the tea into two china cups, "To what do I _really _owe this visit?"

Tony hesitated, only now realising that he hadn't given much though as to how he would introduce the topic to Ducky. "I've got a - a medical question, Ducky. I was wondering if you could clear something up for me?" He sipped cautiously at his tea, silently pleading the warm liquid to wash away his nervousness from coming to Ducky for advice. _I really had no choice_, he reflected. The matter had been distracting him for days, and if he didn't put his mind at ease it was only a matter of time until Gibbs would take a slightly more uncomfortable approach at getting to the bottom of DiNozzo's problem.

"A medical question, my boy? I hope nothing's the matter, your lungs were showing promising signs of repair at their last inspection." Ducky's voice rose with evident worry.

Tony grimaced at the mention of his scarred lungs as memories of blue lights and bloody cloths swarmed through his mind, momentarily drowning out all other thoughts. "No, Ducky, it's nothing like that. Nothing to do with me, anyway. I came down to ask you something else. Something about - well - suicide."

Ducky paused for a moment; while he didn't understand _why_ Tony was raising such issues, he was well aware that his next move in this curious conversation should be approached with caution. "Ah, yes," he started, knowing that Tony's visit had nothing to do with the case at hand but choosing to follow a less confronting path. "Judging by the wounds our young sailor inflicted, suicide remains the most likely cause of death in this investigation. What was it you wanted me to clarify for you?"

"I was wondering if there is any medical research that you're aware of suggesting suicide is - " he searched for a word that would alienate him from the question, knowing full well that a panicked Ducky was _not_ what he needed right now - "_hereditary_."

"Ah, well, whilst mental illnesses such as anxiety and depression certainly do choose to manifest themselves within families, it would be slight overreach to suggest that suicide, an _action_ rather than a _state,_ could be passed down genetically. Do you suspect our victim had a family history of mental illness?" Ducky asked, knowing full well that DiNozzo's question bore no relation to the case at hand.

"No," Tony began, staring at the opposite wall with an uncharacteristic trace of a ghost in his eyes. "I was just curious. Thanks, Ducky, I better be heading back up to Gibbs." He placed his cup on the table, straightened his suit and strode out of autopsy and into the elevator.

Left to bask in the uncertainty of the situation, Ducky reached for the phone once he was sure DiNozzo had been safely returned into the elevator, dialling a series of numbers that were all too familiar.

"Jethro, I just had a rather _peculiar _conversation with young Anthony..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Yeah." Gibbs sighed into the receiver, rubbing a rough hand over his forehead. "Alright, thanks for letting me know, Duck." He snapped the phone shut just as his senior field agent exited the elevator doors.

"What's up, McNutterButter?" DiNozzo sauntered cooly into the bullpen as if he were an entirely different person to the nervous wreck that fled the room some twenty minutes earlier, addressing a very apologetic and tongue tied McGee. He chuckled to himself at the sight. _A nervous Probie, _he thought, _talk about cliches,_ and continued his journey back to his desk.

"You alright, Tony? You looked a little green earlier." The Probie was probing, but DiNozzo was letting nothing out.

"It's called a hangover, Probie. It's an occasional symptom of being a normal human being and not spending your entire life in front of a screen with those virtual fairy friends of yours. You should google it sometime, when you're not so busy minding your own business."

Ziva snorted. "Aaaand, he's back."

Shuffling with the manilla files in front of him, Tony felt a pang of guilt for being a little too hard on the genuinely concerned junior agent.

"Look, don't get your keyboard in a twist. I went down to Abby and she fixed me up with one of those Scuito family hangover cures she's always going on about. Worked a charm."

And with that Gibbs watched his bullpen sink back into its usual state. His agents exchanged occasional comments and queries as they went about their work for the next few hours, and the junior two of the three seemed satisfied that everything was back to normal. Gibbs wasn't so easily fooled.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs stood, making his way over to Tony. "Let's get lunch. My treat."

Tony was taken aback by the offer. He knew Gibbs loved him, but _lunch?!_ It didn't take a genius to work out that Ducky had somehow alerted him to the nature of their earlier conversation. And, despite how fond he was of Gibbs, he _did not_ want to talk about this anymore today_._

"Ugh, thanks for the offer, Boss. I appreciate it, but I've got a stack of work to get through."

"Wasn't a question," Gibbs retorted, tossing DiNozzo's coat to him as he continued towards the elevator, leaving Tony no choice but to follow suit.

They rode the elevator down in silence, Gibbs holding a penetratingly knowing stare at a sheepish DiNozzo, who found his feet a much more worthy subject for his gaze.

"Ahh, cut it out, DiNozzo. I won't bite."

"Sorry, Boss."

They exited the building and took a table at a nearby cafe that Gibbs knew cooked DiNozzo's favourite steak. "It's like the Gods of steak and marinade got together for a one night stand and had a beautiful, beautiful love child," he once told Gibbs, with steak juices dripping out of the side of his mouth and down his shirt.

Gibbs smirked that endearing half grin at the memory, ordering two of the smoky barbecue beef steaks from the teenage waiter.

The two exchanged small talk about their active case until the steaks arrived, at which point DiNozzo asked Gibbs if he'd ever told him his theory about how the smoky barbecue beef steaks came into existence. Laughing, Gibbs answered, "Once or twice," at which point DiNozzo proceeded to relay the great legend of the one night stand between steak and marinade for the umpteenth time. While he enjoyed the lightheartedness of it all, Gibbs wasn't fooled by the banter. He knew DiNozzo was receding further and further into his playboy disguise, avoiding at all costs the inevitable conversation regarding what happened in the bullpen earlier that day.

DiNozzo paused to stuff his mouth with more steak and Gibbs saw his opportunity.

"Have you been to visit your mother yet?"

DiNozzo's face froze mid chew at the bluntness of the question. While they had spoken about his mother before, it was usually a topic reserved for the wee hours of the morning over sandpaper and bourbon in Gibbs' basement. He should have realised that Gibbs had remembered it was the anniversary of his mother's death after he bought him that coffee this morning...

"No," DiNozzo kept his suddenly longing gaze fixed firmly on his steak. "Not yet. Figured I'd go after work."

"Mind if I tag along?"

DiNozzo considered it. _This is what happens when you make the old man worry, _he thought. "It's okay, Boss. You don't have to do that, I'll be fine."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed. How long would he have to know the young agent before he would stop feeling as though he was indebted for every voluntary second the pair spent together? "I _want_ to go."

Tony sighed. While part of him felt as though he should do this alone, as he had always done, he couldn't help but admit to himself that it felt good to have someone's support for once. "Of course, Boss."

"Good. We'll leave at five."

And with that the two finished their meals in silence, Tony avoiding eye contact while Gibbs kept a watchful glance on his agent. Tony resisted fiercely when Gibbs insisted on paying the bill, but a particularly stern version of the famous 'Gibbs-stare' shut the senior field agent up quick smart.

"Thanks, Boss. I appreciate it. I - it's - you know..."

Gibbs nodded. "I know, Tony."


	4. Chapter 4

At five pm Gibbs and DiNozzo made a discreet exit from the bullpen, the two of them being the first to leave. While 'work hours' meant nine to five to most people, a career at NCIS looked more like seven to nine, with the very likely possibility of being woken at three in the morning to a gruff "Grab your gear."

For the second time that day the pair entered the elevator in silence, one man staring at his shoes whilst the other kept a firm watch on his colleague's bowed head.

"You alright, Tony?" Gibbs voice was uncharacteristically gentle, expressing genuine concern for the young agent. "We don't have to do this tonight, not if you don't want to."

Tony considered him for a moment. "It's fine, Boss. I'm fine. It's just - it's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Gibbs sighed. "Sure has." _Thirty years today,_ he thought.

As DiNozzo began towards his car Gibbs grabbed him by the arm, directing him over to the yellow Challenger instead. "I'll drive."

"But Boss, I need my car to -"

"We'll get it later."

He didn't want the kid driving when he was this distracted, especially after that conversation Ducky called him about this morning...

When they got to Gibbs' car a very determined DiNozzo tried his luck at one final protest.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, and there's no reason to -"

"In."

"Boss, really! Don't you think I'm old enough to make my own -"

"In."

"But -"

Gibbs gave him a sharp whack across the back of the head accompanied by a stern look roughly translating to _get in before I get you in._

"In. Got it, Boss." And, with that, DiNozzo got in.

They drove in silence for the better part of twenty minutes, Gibbs checking over his senior field agent out of the corner of his eye every few minutes. With his chin resting in his hand, DiNozzo stared out the window. He could feel Gibbs eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to move his head off the cool glass.

"We should stop and get some flowers." It came out as more of a whisper, his head still resting against the window. "She loved flowers."

Gibbs swallowed the lump in his throat and, unable to speak, pulled into the driveway of the florist next to the cemetery. He waited in the car while DiNozzo went inside, figuring the kid might need a moment alone to compose himself before they proceeded any further. He figured he was right when Tony was gone for well above what was considered the average time one spends choosing flowers to leave at a grave, but didn't say anything when DiNozzo returned to the car with a modest bunch of small yellow flowers.

"Jonquils," Tony explained while raising the bouquet to his nose. "They were her favourite."

Gibbs parked the car inside the grand iron gates of the cemetery, and the two began their walk in silent camaraderie towards the grave.

It was only when Tony stopped dead in his tracks that Gibbs realised they had reached his mother's grave; an elegant, marble tombstone surrounded in what must have been thousands of dollars worth of red roses.

"Tony?" Gibbs queried, noticing the disappointment in the agent's face. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" DiNozzo repeated, his mind busy processing the scene before his eyes. "Nothing's wrong. It's just - he must have -" He moved towards the shrine of roses, retrieving a card from the bouquet covering the foot of the tombstone. He read it once, and he read it again. Unable to speak, he passed the paper to Gibbs.

"Oh," he exhaled, handing the card back to Tony. "They're from your father."

DiNozzo turned to the man he truly thought of as his father with watery eyes and, at that point, Gibbs wanted nothing more than to comfort his boy until all the pain that had welled up inside him for the past thirty years was gone.

"Why didn't he tell me he was in town, Gibbs?"

"Oh, Tony," Gibbs sighed, rubbing a calloused hand across his brow. "For all we know he probably just sent them from New York."

He could tell the boy was doing everything he could to hold back his tears, and was silently grateful he hadn't let him come by himself. _God knows what he would have done,_ thought a concerned Gibbs.

"Tony, it - it doesn't make yours any less special. You said jonquils were her favourite. Not roses." Tony looked unconvinced, eyeing his small bouquet disappointedly.

"Tony -" he pleaded, but go no response from the destroyed man.

"Son," he whispered, holding Tony's chin until his eyes met his own. "Give your mother the flowers."

Tony nodded, quickly wiping his eyes as he turned once more towards the grave, hoping Gibbs hadn't seen the obvious sign of weakness. He took in a deep breath and knelt to place the jonquils in a small gap left by his father's ridiculous demonstration of wealth, taking a moment to trace his finger over the only writing on the headstone not covered in red petals. _Paddington._ After his mother died, an eight year old Tony often asked his father why he couldn't be called Paddington too; innocent sentiments which only further enraged Senior who, by that point, was falling deeper into the depths of his alcoholism than ever before.

"I miss you," a barely audible whisper escaped his lips before he hoisted himself to his feet and returned to Gibbs, where they stood side by side and faced his mother's final place of rest.

The pair stood in reverent silence for a while, Gibbs offering a private prayer to Tony's mother for raising him to become the courageous man he is today. While neither Gibbs nor Tony were particularly religious Gibbs knew his mother was devout, and believed her son was quietly offering his own prayers for the same reason.

As the sun began to fall and the first shadows of darkness lowered themselves around the grave, Gibbs decided it was time to get Tony home. Sensing the boy needed another moment to compose himself, Gibbs offered to bring the car around, leaving Tony to have a minute alone with his mother.

A single tear slid down Tony's cheek and onto the card nestled tightly in his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony slumped forward as his face rest once again upon the cool glass of the car window, retreating further and further into himself. Someone was calling his name in the distance, but he couldn't escape the cycle of thoughts that were spinning round and round in his head...

"Tony?"

His head jerked away from the window and found Gibbs in the driver's seat, confusion painting his weary features as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. "Huh?"

"How're you holding up?"

"Mmm," he mumbled unconvincingly after an unassured pause, still withdrawn.

"Come to my place. We'll get pizza," Gibbs asserted, taking charge of the situation. "Your car will keep," he added, anticipating DiNozzo's usual struggle.

"Oh," he moved his head back to the window. "Okay."

Concern shone through Gibbs' worn eyes. _Okay? That's it? No argument? _If there was one thing that worried Gibbs more than when Tony didn't show his usual defiance, it was when he too emotionally drained to even try.

"If you're lucky I'll even let you pick the topping," Gibbs tried, in an attempt to get him out of his head.

"Huh?" Tony murmured, still going over the same thoughts in his mind. _Mum. Roses. Dad._

"The pizza, Tony."

"Oh," he sat up, readying himself to get out of the car as Gibbs pulled into his driveway. "Right." _Snap out of it, DiNozzo,_ he told himself, wedging a spanner through the wheel of thoughts in his mind. _Or he'll think you've lost the plot..._

Entering through the unlocked front door, Gibbs grabbed them a couple of beers and they settled onto the couch.

"Game's on tonight," DiNozzo tried, fiddling with the ancient remote until the tiny players appeared on screen, allowing the excitement in the commentator's voice to fill the tired room.

"Mmm," Gibbs grunted as he thumbed the number for Luigi's into his phone, not falling for DiNozzo's halfhearted attempts. "I need one large pepperoni, sausage and extra cheese," he ordered into the phone, rattling off his address to the kid on the other end.

"I thought I got to choose the pizza," Tony joked, knowing full well Gibbs had just ordered his favourite.

"Shut up, DiNozzo."

"Thanks, Boss. But I'm not letting you pay _again_. The whole Navy Yard practically thinks we're dating after our little lunch rendezvous today."

"I said _shut up_, DiNozzo," Gibbs repeated, although there was nothing but amusement in his voice. _At least he's out of his head,_ Gibbs mused.

The two exchanged small talk over football and beers until the pizza arrived, Gibbs smacking Tony's hand away with a reprimanding _no_ when he went to pay the delivery boy. Tony grinned sheepishly at the seventeen year old driver, offering a goofy _it's not what it looks like_.

Unsurprisingly, Tony didn't devour the pizza at his usual ratio of two pieces to Gibbs' every one, but instead toyed unenthusiastically with the same piece for half an hour.

"Sorry, Boss," he offered, the sparkle leaving his brilliant green eyes. "Guess I, ugh, I don't have much of an appetite tonight."

"Don't apologise," Gibbs reminded him quietly, privately proud that Tony felt comfortable enough to admit he wasn't 100% in front of him. _Even if it's five hours too late,_ Gibbs contemplated. "Bring that box downstairs will you," he pointed towards the half eaten pizza. "I need a hand sanding the boat."

"Oh," DiNozzo retreated, self doubt glinting in his eyes. "It's okay. I'm no good at that stuff, Boss. I'll probably wreck it."

"Where do you get these ideas?" Gibbs shook his head, incredulous, knowing full well these unfounded insecurities came from the daily dose of verbal abuse dished out by Senior throughout his childhood. _You'll end up in the gutter,_ he remembered Tony relaying to him one night after one too many bourbons, unable to stop his fist clenching at the image of Tony's disheartened face forever imprinted inside his mind.

Making for the basement door, he stopped to gesture Tony forward when he didn't follow suit. "Come on," he beckoned. "I'll teach you," and the two made their way into the security of the basement.

They sanded in comfortable silence for an hour, Gibbs coaxing Tony into taking another bite of pizza every now and then. _Can't have him getting sick on me,_ Gibbs thought. _Again, _he added, grimacing at the memory of two weeks of sleeplessness, waiting for the doctors to notify him that his boy had succumbed to the 85% chance of death and _would not_ be coming home.

"Just ask, Gibbs." Tony broke the silence, dropping his sandpaper on the workbench in front of him and pouring a shot of bourbon. "Get it over and done with." He knocked back the amber liquid and poured himself another.

Gibbs wasn't phased by DiNozzo's directness, knowing he'd have to get to the bottom of this tonight or Tony would have to wear the weight of the world on his shoulders for another day. Gibbs downed his tools, poured himself a bourbon and looked his senior field agent right in the eye.

"Why'd you ask Ducky about suicide this morning?"

"Oh, come on, Gibbs! You know why." Both his voice and face were rising in volume and intensity as he skulled the second bourbon, fumbling with the bottle to pour himself another.

"No, I don't know why!" Gibbs voice beat DiNozzo's in forcefulness. "You got plans to off yourself in the near future, _DiNozzo?_" He spoke Tony's name with spite, letting out the bitterness he'd been bottling up all day after hearing of Tony's little chat with Ducky.

"Gibbs - I -" DiNozzo softened, taken aback by the fact Gibbs believed he'd do that. "No, I - It was just - I wouldn't -" Stuttering, he reached for the bottle of bourbon, but Gibbs moved it out of reach.

"You've had enough, Tony," Gibbs warned softly, leading him over to sit at a stool by the work bench.

"Don't suppress it, Tony," Gibbs continued gently, placing a finger under the boy's chin. "Why'd you ask Ducky if suicide runs in families?" He asked slowly, aware of the need for cautiousness.

"I was just - I guess I was curious, Gibbs." Tony rubbed at the back of his neck, willing the knots away.

"You know when my mum - when she, ugh, killed herself - she was thirty eight. Like me."

"And you're worried you're going to do something bad like she did? Something to hurt yourself?

"No, I wouldn't, I - I couldn't. It's -" He sighed, searching desperately for the words. _You owe it to him,_ he reasoned with himself. _Tell him._

"You know, Gibbs, when I wandered into my mother's bedroom thirty years ago today and found her - _asleep_ - on the floor, with an empty bottle of pills in her hand..." He trailed off, staring longingly at the basement wall. Gibbs silently placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently to give him all the strength he needed to go on and get this off his chest. "It was the worst day of my life, Gibbs. And I've never been able to get that - that _image - _out of my head. I could _never_ do that to you and the team," he concluded with a croaky voice and watery eyes. "Hell, I don't even want to!"

"Tony, I -" It was now Gibbs turn to be at a loss for words, silently cursing himself for not being able to stop all this happening thirty years ago to an eight year old Anthony DiNozzo. "I had no idea you were the one that found her. I'm so sorry, Tony."

"But you're right, Gibbs," Tony realised. "I think I _was_ worried when I went to see Ducky this morning that I might do something like that. I've always wondered how she could love me so much and at the same time - _break_ my heart like that. And then I figured maybe - maybe she couldn't help herself. And if she could love me more than _anything _in the world but still do that then maybe - I might be capable of it too. Maybe _I_ wouldn't be able to help myself one day."

Gibbs wiped a stray tear from Tony's cheek that had escaped his anguished eyes, prouder than ever at his boy for coming to terms with fears that had been haunting him for thirty years.

"But I won't, Gibbs. I know I won't. Because she had a bastard for a husband and an eight year old that couldn't help her for her only companion. But I've - I've got so much more."

Placing a hand on each shoulder, Gibbs leaned in to whisper into his tormented agent's ear. "_Never _forget that, Tony." He pulled him an embrace, holding him up while thirty years of loss washed over him, rubbing his back and offering soothing _atta boys _until the sobs subsided.

Later that night he walked his boy up to the guest room which he'd made up this morning before work in anticipation of DiNozzo's visit. Helping Tony's exhausted body into bed, Gibbs sat with him until his breathing steadied and his mind was at ease, promising himself he'd _always_ make sure Tony had something to live for.

**_I hope you guys liked how this one finished up. I post these chapters every night in Australia before I go to bed and every morning when I wake up I'm overwhelmed by the amazing response I get from you. Thanks so much for your time and please do let me know what you think x_**


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